His Butler: Debauched
by Shadows of Starlight
Summary: This is purely Sebastian x Grell smut, and nothing but the smut, so enjoy! Warning: For the purposes of this fanfiction, Grell is female.  I wrote it for a friend .


His Butler: Debauched

Summary: This is purely Sebastian x Grell smut, and that's all there is to it.

Warning!: For the purpose of this fanfiction, Grell is female. (I wrote it for a friend.)

Sebastian followed Grell to her flat on soundless feet; he could feel the tension emanating from her for a twenty-mile radius. 'Well you're stuck with me,' he smirked to himself, pausing as she opened the door.

"I have to pack for this MENTAL assignment, and you're going to assist me," she seethed, anger staining her cheeks a warm rose.

"Yes my Lady," he replied in a subdued sort of voice, and bowed to her with a faint smile as he opened her closet and began collecting jackets and vests and blouses to fold and put into the suitcases he wished into being. This would take very little time if she waited to have her temper tantrum until after the wardrobe was empty and her bags ready. Then she could explode, and he'd gather the scattered pieces of her psyche and restore it to its former pulsing glory.

He didn't make it past the second jacket before she was on him like a crazed thing. Buttons were creating zinging dissonance with their surprise trips to far off corners of the room. One nearly smacked her in the face, but he caught it in his gloved hand, and then took hers in his.

"Does it have to be like this?" he asked softly, lead wrapped in velvet, drawing her hand to his mouth, and kissing it as respectfully as possible.

The glare she gave him would have quite literally slain a lesser man where he stood.

"Yes it does, it absolutely does!" She spat, batting his hands away and shoved him hard into the wall.

Well, that was, unexpected. He opened his mouth to question, question what he did not know, but surely there was something he could say to divert this confrontation. And then her lips assaulted him as surely as her hands had, and he realized this was an altogether different entity.

He gasped aloud, when she emitted a low, feral growl that threatened to consume him should he dare move again, and was rewarded with a kiss of force equal to that fury. Sebastian had kissed, and been kissed, and danced this particular sort of waltz countless times, with countless partners, but never had he expected to tango with such a partner.

For once, he felt raw and open, open like his jacket, as she shred it without seeming to realize that she was doing it, or perhaps she knew all along. Her lips left his mouth only briefly, and that was to apply the exact pressure of her dangerous teeth to his neck. Her 'fangs' could he call them fangs? Were juxtaposed against his jugular, and his pulse shot into the stratosphere, blood electrified in a way that could have scared him. So this was what is was, to dance with death.

She could have ripped out his throat right then, blood-soaked and beautiful, and he would have done nothing to stop her, nothing at all, save beg her to continue. To watch her like that would be an aphrodisiac no man could resist. In this, Sebastian was no different.

He hissed, as she tested his limits, waiting to be given permission to move, muscles rippling beneath her fevered touches, finding more of his skin than he remembered being exposed. His eyes had sparkled to cat-like crimson, and they opened reluctantly to see nothing but threads and strips of fabric huddled together as though for protection. Ah, so that was why her hands were everywhere at once. His composure dropped out from under him at the sight of her.

Grell was perfection embodied, though would he really have expected less from a deity of her magnitude? Her hair had come down into loose waves, and he wanted to sink his hands into it, and bury his nose there to re-learn her scent. Grell was… still attached to his neck, and wearing FAR too much clothing. This simply would not do.

He would allow her to possess him, undoubtedly, however, she wouldn't be the only one making a claim.

With something akin to a purr reverberating in his throat, he fisted his left hand in that crimson mane, and he yanked her mouth back to his, seeking out her taste, the texture of her tongue, and the pinpricks of blood her teeth raised in the sweeping wake of his exploration.

She had evidently been startled out of her haze enough to notice where they were, standing in the disarray of her bedroom, locked around each other with no thought to much else because she tried to speak.

"Bed," she gasped, perhaps as painfully aroused as he, but Sebastian shook his head, hair still perfect for the moment.

"No my Dear, I don't think so," he wrestled with her, pinning her slim back against the wall as his mouth and hands swarmed her, aura rising to intertwine with hers, and they duelled like their counterparts in this aggressive show of foreplay. "I can't wait for that," he said simply, a trace of husk entering the smooth baritone, and he buried his face in her neck, her hair, drawing the scent of her in as though he might never see her again.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she snarled, clearly having moved past the confused state, and into the 'If you don't finish what I started, you will Suffer' stage.

He looked at her then, fingertips clinging to the tumbled waves of red even as his eyes locked her in place effectively as restraints.

"I am learning every centimetre of your skin, absorbing the feel of you against me, the sounds you make, your smell, your movements, and committing them all to memory. Now be quiet and let me do it." The reprimand was serious, yet his smile lessened its bite.

Assured that she wouldn't waste time with silly questions again, he was able to return to the writhing woman under his hands. He would give her so much, give until she pleaded for him to cease, but in this fractured moment that clearly had to be stolen from another man's life, he had to _take_.

Sebastian tugged her head back, fastening his mouth to her throat and ear and pulse point subsequently, nimble fingertips careening down to the valley between her breasts, capturing the weight of them in his hands, and released his own groan at the sensation.

"I stand corrected, you are every inch a Lady," he all but purred at her, pausing only to divest her of the diaphanous material having the gall to shield her from him. Tit for tat, he sliced it clean down the middle, calculating how long he had before she hit him, but derailed her train of thought as he devoured her wholly.

Were she any other lover to have graced his bed, he would have delicately turned her to the wall and gone about things as per normal, but this person, this Goddess deserved respect, and he wanted to watch her face as she came apart in his hands, and, he grinned wickedly up at her before kneeling, his mouth.

He gave her no time to recover, no time to wonder, no time to close herself off, and lifted a shapely leg over the curve of his shoulder, and made love to her with his tongue; the thing might have been a figure skater for the way it swirled around her, and through her, and into her, oh gods into her. With a rapid flick, she shattered above him.

"Will you fly for me?" he asked, standing, and cupping her cheek in so tender a gesture she nearly ran, stark naked into the streets of London.

"If you throw me through a door again, I'll-"

He silenced her with a bruising kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue, as he massaged her sides and hips, parting them to bring her closer.

He was aching, and the moisture gathering on his thigh drove him delirious, as he drove himself, home.

Someone screamed, he wasn't sure whom, but without breaking stride he wrapped her legs around his waist, and her arms around his neck, and drank from her like a dying man, kissing her in lascivious parody of what he did to the rest of her.

"Grell…" he panted against her lips, a litany, a curse, a mantra, and released a wordless cry as his vision began to go black, a mute prayer to the heavens, and he might have wept in that moment, for he knew it was his soul.

Sometime later, when sanity had returned to them, they could discuss things, if they could form sentences, and perhaps negotiate removing the belt buckle that had survived to lodge itself painfully in his back, but that was a matter for another time.


End file.
